


Between Dreams

by analineblue



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto’s no psychoanalyst, but he’s pretty sure he knows what these dreams mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to just be a bit of fluff, with Jack comforting Ianto about his nightmares, but it kind of turned into something else along the way? Starts out a little dark, but I promise there’s schmoop by the end. ;) Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt _nightmares_.

Ianto wakes with a start--shivering, shaking, cold sweat, all of it.

It's every cliché in the book, but that doesn't mean he can stop the raw terror that’s churning deep in his stomach from attempting to claw its way out through his throat.

Night after night, it’s the same thing. Lisa--hard, metallic, pressed against him, pinning him down, suffocating him. He can smell blood, can _feel_ it, warm and sticky between his fingers. She's a monster--a monster created by monsters, against her will, sure, but still a monster--and maybe he is too, he thinks as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and runs an unsteady hand through his hair.

He never wanted this to be what he remembered about her.

She deserves more, and most of the time, when he thinks of her, he thinks of her smile, the softness of her skin, the way she smelled, fresh and clean and warm.

But somehow his subconscious has turned her into a parody of every ridiculous sci-fi film he's ever seen.

He wonders sometimes if Jack ever has dreams like this about the people he's killed, about the people he’s watched die. 

He’d ask him, but he’s not sure how.

Treading lightly isn’t always as easy as it sounds, especially with someone like Jack.

**

Honestly, Ianto has no idea what he's doing with Jack most of the time.

He gets the distinct impression that on the surface, he appears to be spiraling out of control, in over his head, but at the same time, in a way that he could never articulate even if he tried, he trusts Jack.

He's never been like this before, never been one to have a physical relationship without emotional attachments, never been one to use someone for sex—because yes, sometimes that’s what this feels like. Like he's using Jack to drown out everything else, because when he's with Jack, when he’s buried inside him, everything else fades away. His world narrows to a fine, fine point. There’s no Lisa, no Torchwood, no guilt, no betrayal, just _Jack_.

But when he wakes up in the middle of the night down in Jack's quarters, his mind racing as he tries to make sense of the images flashing in front of his eyes, blood pumping through his veins, panic setting all his nerves on edge--when he wakes up, there’s someone at his side.

There’s a strong hand on his shoulder, and Jack’s voice is calm and steady, telling Ianto to breathe, that he's okay, that he's safe.

It makes Ianto wonder just what exactly is going on here.

If maybe there's more to Jack than he lets on, more to _this_ , to them. 

**

At some point he stops dreaming about the night Lisa died.

More often than not, he’s alone in his nightmares now. Alone at Canary Wharf, wandering what’s left of the halls of Torchwood I, knowing that something horrible, something apocalyptic has happened, and that he’s the only one left; or he’s alone in the hub, locked in to clean up in the aftermath of Lisa, on his hands and knees, choking back bile, looking for someone, anyone to release him.

And lately, lots of times he’s alone in Jack’s office, but Jack’s gone--not dead, but also not coming back, not ever--and everything is empty and cold, _dead_ without him.

In all of them, at the core it’s the same--he’s been left behind, forgotten.

As time passes, more and more often it’s Jack who’s done the leaving, Jack who’s disappeared, who’s left Ianto behind, and the weight of this realization, and how much it shakes Ianto is so severe sometimes he wakes up unable to breathe, as if his chest is sinking in on itself, swallowing up his heart. 

Sometimes it’s not so much of a nightmare as a completely rational fear that he carries with him when he’s awake, too. And somehow it’s more terrifying, more real of a fear than anything involving Cybermen ever was. 

Ianto’s no psychoanalyst, but he’s pretty sure he knows what this means.

**

Jack never asks about his dreams.

It’s one of those unspoken things between them, like so much else, and honestly, Ianto suspects that he already knows, has already figured him out, connected the dots. It’s the things he says, sometimes, with his arms wrapped around Ianto's chest in the middle of the night, holding him close as his breathing steadies, and the room comes back into focus. Things that can't possibly be true, but that feel so good to hear anyway.

Jack tells him that he'll take care of him, that he's not going anywhere, that Ianto's not alone.

It makes Ianto's chest ache, he wants to believe it so badly.

**

And then Jack _does_ go, disappears without so much as a word of explanation, and there’s nothing to be done save for accepting it, so that’s what Ianto does.

Lisa shows up in his dreams again, in Jack’s absence--in her suit of armor, she’s more terrifying now that she’s been gone so long.

But most of the time, Ianto just dreams of Jack.

He’s off in the distance now, always just out of reach, standing just far enough away that his face is a blur, so that Ianto can’t make out any of the details. He could be a monster too, for all Ianto knows. He’s too far away to tell.

He wakes up alone, missing Jack, wondering just how long he can continue to wait, but then, of course, he keeps on waiting anyway.

**

Jack comes back eventually, of course, but the nightmares stay the same. Jack still disappears, still shows up blurry and out of reach, lost in the depths of Ianto’s subconscious.

Sometimes he feels like he's experienced this so many times in his dreams by now—Jack leaving—that he's ready for anything. There’s no way Jack is ever going to catch him off-guard again. 

**

The thing that throws him is that now Jack has nightmares too.

Ianto has no idea what happened to Jack while he was gone, but he realizes quickly that it has to have been bad--really bad--because he’s never seen Jack come apart quite like this before.

He’s learned from the best though, has been here so many times himself, so he knows how to hold Jack close, knows what words to say. The relief he feels when the tension fades from Jack’s shoulders, when his breathing stills and he buries his face into Ianto’s chest and they both lie still, half-asleep until morning--it’s so overwhelming that Ianto wonders how he ever managed without Jack. It makes him wonder what he’ll do when Jack goes again. It’s enough to make him run from this once and for all, but he knows that he can’t, doesn’t want to.

He’s made his choice.

He’s in this for as long as Jack will have him, this much is as clear as anything Ianto knows.

**

It’s late one night, and that crisp, middle-of-the-night autumn cold has crept into Ianto’s flat, the kind that makes everything feel drafty, even though the doors and windows are obviously shut tight.

He should be asleep, they both should be, but instead he’s sitting up in bed, the covers kicked off hastily, trying to catch his breath, still a little disoriented in the darkness. Jack hadn’t been asleep, hadn’t even been in bed, but he’s holding Ianto close now though, his arms around Ianto’s shoulders, strong and sure, like always.

At first, after Jack’s return, Ianto kept waiting for his anger to surface, sure that he was just waiting for Jack to make the wrong move, to say the wrong thing.

But it never happened, after a while Ianto just let go. He had questions, sure, but there was no grudge, no lingering animosity. He believed Jack, plain and simple. That Jack had come back for him. And now he just wanted him to stay, wanted more moments like this, with Jack whispering into his ear, warm breath tickling against his earlobe, his neck.

And at first it’s just the normal words of encouragement, words that Ianto has heard a hundred times before, but that somehow always calm his nerves anyway, but then Jack pauses, and Ianto turns to face him with a questioning glance.

"Your dreams..." Jack says, and his hand is warm against the curve of Ianto’s spine. "Do you want to talk about them? I know it doesn’t always help, but…” Jack pauses, swallowing, and Ianto wonders if he’s speaking from personal experience. “It might be worth a try."

Ianto studies Jack for a long moment. He hesitates, but then realizes that maybe he does want to talk about this after all. He’s missed talking to Jack. 

He remembers waking up alone, remembers what he would have given for Jack to be here again, just like this, his features soft in a way that Jack never allowed them to be when anyone else was watching, his attention completely focused.

"They started after Canary Wharf," Ianto says finally, straightening the covers around him, trying to block out a little of the cold.

"Makes sense,” Jack says, nodding.

“Pretty textbook, really,” Ianto agrees. “Usually I’m trapped. Sometimes alone, sometimes not.”

He shrugs, and Jack just nods, rubs his palm back and forth against Ianto’s back between his shoulder blades.

“They got worse after Lisa died.”

Jack nods again, and slides his arm around Ianto's waist, palm pressed against his stomach, warmth bleeding through the cotton of Ianto’s t-shirt. 

“They're mostly about you now though," Ianto says honestly. "I'm alone, and I realize you've gone," Ianto says softly, leaning back against Jack's broad chest. "That's what it is now, every time." 

"That's all?" Jack teases, and his arms tighten a little around Ianto’s chest. 

Ianto lets out a tense laugh. "Yep. That’s it."

Jack just waits as Ianto breathes, exhales. 

"Pretty pathetic, right?” he says a moment later, and there a slight edge to his tone. “I mean, you and me, we're..."

"We're...?" Jack prompts. "Come on, Ianto, talk to me." 

Ianto is suddenly very aware of Jack's arms, of his skin, of the rise and fall of Jack's chest. Jack's chest that will continue to rise and fall for decades after Ianto is dead and gone. Centuries. Longer, maybe.

"What are we, Jack?" Ianto asks finally, just lets the question hang in the air for a moment. "Because I don't know what I'm doing here, sometimes,” he confesses. “I missed you so much, when you left.” 

"I know." 

"My worst nightmare, and it's already happened,” Ianto says, forcing a tight laugh. “What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Jack says honestly. "But I missed you, too."

Ianto starts, surprised. "Really?"

"Of course I did.” Jack frowns. “I thought I told you that."

Ianto twists his body around so that he's facing Jack. 

"No," he says finally. “You didn't tell me.”

"Well, I should have,” Jack says. “I'd say 'I’m sorry',” he continues, “But I don't really think that cuts it anymore, does it?"

“I’m not angry, Jack, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

When Jack doesn’t offer anything else, Ianto ventures, “…So what about you? Your dreams, they started after you came back, right?”

Jack’s face goes tense and blank for a moment before he shakes his head, and Ianto immediately regrets asking such a loaded question. 

"Ianto," Jack says, and his voice is suddenly so serious, it snaps Ianto to attention.

"I realized something, while I was gone, okay?" He pauses. "Well, I realized a lot of things, but one of them is really, really important. I don't really know how to say this though, so just bear with me?”

Jack takes a deep breath.

“Sometimes--well, okay, lots of times--I think about what it would be like to die. Sometimes I want it so badly I can almost taste it. I can't tell you how many times I've wished for it over the years."

"But I don't think that way anymore. Even...” Ianto watches Jack swallow back a slight tremor. Instinctively, he reaches for Jack’s hand. “Even with everything that happened while I was gone. I don’t want that anymore."

Ianto studies Jack as much as he can in the darkness, trying to read him, to see where this is going.

"Well, that's good, right?" he offers, tentatively. 

"Good doesn't even begin to describe it, Ianto." 

Then Jack leans over, and kisses him, and it's possessive and tender at the same time, the kind of kiss that makes Ianto feel like the bottom's dropped out of the earth, like he's floating, falling. Jack’s tongue is deliberate, but searching, seeking direction, earnest in its pursuit of the inside of Ianto’s mouth. Ianto finds himself humming his approval, his hands moving up to cup Jack’s face, palms moving over the rough skin along Jack’s chin, finger tips brushing against Jack’s ears, steadying them, holding them in place. 

The kiss deepens and Ianto squeezes his eyes shut tight and just lets go, lets Jack’s hands trace a trail of gooseflesh along his arms, lets Jack drag his tongue along the roof of his mouth until a soft groan escapes from somewhere deep inside of him, and his whole body is thrumming with electricity. A barely-audible moan escapes his lips when Jack finally pulls away.

"It's _you_ , Ianto,” Jack says finally, his voice catching a little. He squeezes Ianto’s arm. “And it's better than good. Better than great. It's amazing.”

Ianto feels his cheeks start to warm a little. He glances away from Jack, and then back again when Jack’s hands move to his shoulders.

“Falling in love with you has been the best thing that's ever happened to me." 

Ianto blinks, brain still a little fuzzy, not entirely sure that he’s heard Jack properly. 

"And I'm sorry,” Jack continues. “I'm sorry for who I am. I'm sorry that I'm your worst nightmare. And I mean, I understand, I don’t blame you--I’ve been a bastard." Jack smiles a little, but his eyes are sad. Ianto can see that there’s something broken there, even now, when Jack’s making such a truthful confession, and it tears at his heart.

“Jack.”

"It just doesn't seem fair, sometimes,” Jack continues, voice sounding close to breaking. “You're so _good_ \--"

" _Jack_ ,” Ianto says again, quickly. “You're not my worst nightmare. _Losing_ you, that's what I'm afraid of. It's not the same thing." 

And then it’s Ianto who’s leaning forward and taking Jack’s face in his hands again, their noses  
brushing together, Jack’s breath warm and moist against his lips. Ianto can feel warm skin under his fingers, and all the sudden all of this is completely overwhelming—-Jack is here, _here_ —-and Ianto can't stop, can't let go for a second.

All he knows is that he has to get as close to Jack as possible right now. It doesn’t matter what Jack’s just said to him, or why he said it, or what on earth happened to him while he was gone, and Ianto was missing him so desperately. What it all means, or where they’ll go from here-—none of that matters.

He just needs to connect with Jack in a way that’s familiar, in a way that he knows works for them, in a way that _translates_. Ianto has never thought of it like this before, but right now, this surge of heat between them that draws them together with such magnetic force--right now, this feels like a common language, a secret code, maybe. Something only they can understand.

“I’m not good, Jack,” Ianto whispers against Jack’s neck as he presses his body on top of Jack, shifting his hips, finding that sweet spot of friction, feeling Jack's hips cant forward in response. “In fact, without you, I’m…”

Whatever else he was going to say is forgotten as Jack shifts under him, gasping against Ianto’s neck, a familiar rhythm.

**

They're lying there in the darkness, boneless, skin still a little slick with sweat, not feeling the chill of the fall weather at all anymore, and it’s the post-coital endorphins that make him say it; Ianto’s sure this is the only explanation for how easily the words just roll off his tongue as if they’ve always been waiting there, just out of reach.

"So…” He says as he pulls himself up on one elbow to face Jack. “You’re in love with me, is that it?"

He’s going for casual, flirty, but he’s pretty sure Jack hasn’t missed the catch in his voice.

"I am indeed," Jack says, ignoring the tension and sidling up to him, resting his chin on Ianto's bare shoulder. "And what about you?" 

"I... ah... Yes?" Ianto smiles a little at the funny look Jack’s giving him. “ _Yes_ , Jack.”

"You don't sound so sure," Jack teases, tracing a line with his fingertip down Ianto's arm, stopping at his elbow and leaning in to place a kiss on his collarbone. 

"Oh, I'm sure," Ianto says quickly, rolling his eyes. "Just a little surprised, that's all." 

"That we're talking about this?"

Ianto chuckles, and then turns to face Jack, sitting up, watching Jack follow suit. Jack's face is disarming, it's so open, so completely devoid of the defenses Jack usually surrounds himself with, it makes Ianto’s heart hammer hard in his chest for a second.

"Don't tell me you're not," he says finally.

"Well, it had to come out someday, right?" 

"And let me guess, this was as good a time as any?"

Jack shrugs. "Pretty much. And honestly? I'm relieved," Jack says, and Ianto lets out a surprised laugh.

"Well, I did up and leave you without a word,” Jack says. “I wasn't sure of anything after that." 

Ianto twitches a little when Jack’s hand brushes against his hip. He frowns.

"Wait, you were sure _before_ that?"

Jack grins. "I had my reasons." 

"Such confidence." 

Jack's grin widens. "But you love me anyway."

"I do," Ianto says, and he’s slightly mortified by the warmth that floods through him, as his eyes cloud over. It’s too much, sometimes, all of it--and his words always sound so inadequate. But he can still feel Jack inside him, around him, his body aching in all the right places, and he remembers--there’s a language where all of this makes sense, one that he can always turn to for clarification.

"I do, Jack, I..." He steadies his voice. "I really do."

Jack leans over and pulls him into a tight hug. 

"I know," Jack says.

Ianto tries to breathe, and ends up with Jack's lips pressed against his own instead. He melts into the kiss, Jack’s solid hands against his chin, his neck, holding him steady.

"I'm not going to leave you again," Jack whispers. "I promise. I made a mistake, but I won't make it again." 

Ianto hums his approval, breathing Jack in, taking his words and tucking them somewhere deep in his heart, somewhere where he hopes he can find them again when he needs them.

He closes his eyes and leans into Jack, feeling the firm angles of his chest, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and holding on tight. He memorizes this too, files it away, this impossibly light feeling in his chest, as if his heart has finally been set free, has finally shed its extra weight, at least for the time being.

**

The nightmares don’t go away. 

Ianto still wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming of Cybermen, and Lisa, and a hundred other things that are far too easy to push away when he’s awake, but are somehow just fine for his subconscious to torment him with when he’s trying to catch up on some much-needed rest. He still dreams of Jack leaving, too, and of the Tardis, of Jack’s doctor taking him somewhere he won’t be able to return from.

Jack also dreams of this sometimes, Ianto’s sure of it, but the way he sees it, Jack’s made his choice too. They’re both in this until the end.

They both still have ghosts hanging around too, and they probably always will, but for what it’s worth, he figures they’ll both keep dreaming for a little while longer, anyway.

***


End file.
